Car Games
by GirlNextDoor
Summary: Dean's temper is tested when Sam attempts to make roadtripping more interesting. A short, humorous oneshot as my first attempt at a Supernatural fic.


"Hey, Dean?"

For what must have been the eighth time by now, the older man sighed and looked over to the passenger seat where his little brother was staring at him hopefully. He growled, and opened his mouth to once again recite the rules of today's journey.

"No car games, Sammy."

Sam's face fell a little at his brother's obvious contempt for his choice of roadtrip entertainment, but he continued to press. "Come on, you'll like this one."

"I highly doubt that." Dean muttered under his breath. Sam either didn't hear him or pretended he didn't.

"Okay, so all you have to do is pick a color, and then when a car of that color goes past, you get a point." Sam sounded excited at the prospect of it. "It's easy. I pick red."

Dean surveyed the dead-straight, completely empty road in front of him doubtfully. It wouldn't be hard to play along and keep Sam happy; the last car they passed had been at least fifteen minutes ago. "Fine." He agreed. "I pick fluorescent lime green."

Sam gave his brother a strange look. "Are you sure you don't want to pick a different color? I don't think we'll see many fluorescent lime green cars."

Dean turned from the road just long enough to fix his brother with a tight-lipped smile. "Really?"

Sam finally caught on, and he scowled. "Well, if you didn't want to play, you could have just said so." He mumbled quietly.

"That's funny, I thought I did." Was Dean's reply.

"Fine. No car games." Sam agreed, and was silent for a few seconds; something Dean knew he should savor, because it wouldn't last for long.

"Hey, Dean?"

He cringed, proven right. Trying to maintain a steady, patient tone, Dean replied, but didn't take his eyes off the road. "What, Sam?"

"If someone made a movie about us, who do you think would play you?" Sam ignored his brother's tone. He'd promised no more car games, _not_ no more talking.

Dean thought for a second, just relieved Sam wasn't asking him to play eye-spy. "I dunno... maybe Chuck Norris."

"What? Dean, the guys more than twice your age." Sam protested.

"So?" Dean retorted. "Besides, that dude can kick ass."

"No, you've gotta pick someone else." The younger man insisted.

Dean grumbled. "Fine." He thought for a minute. "What about that guy from Smallville?"

"Oh yeah, the football coach?" Sam nodded. "You do look kinda similar to him."

Dean made a 'pfft' sound. "No, not him. The main guy. The one that grows up to be Superman."

Sam stifled a loud laugh. "You're comparing yourself to Chuck Norris _and_ Superman?"

"What's wrong with that?" Dean asked honestly, and Sam just shook his head in amusement. Dean faced him in mock annoyance. "Well fine, who would play you?"

"I don't know." Sam admitted, turning towards the window. "I guess I would."

It was Dean's turn to stifle a laugh, which ended up sounding like he'd gotten something lodged in his throat. "_You_ want to be an actor?"

Sam shrugged, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. "Maybe. It doesn't seem too hard."

Dean studied him for a moment, trying to work out if he should offer his support. "Well, you're definitely down with the whole whiny, in-touch-with-your-emotions thing... but I dunno if you're pretty enough for Hollywood."

"Hey, I have experience." Sam insisted, beginning to get defensive.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, you are _not_ talking about that pillow infomercial -"

"Not _'pillow'_, Dean." Sam corrected him. "It was the Contour Cloud Sleep System."

"- all you had to do was lie there!"

Sam grumbled. "And I suppose you could do so much better?"

Dean half-shrugged. "Well, yeah. Sure. I could be an actor."

Sam shook his head. "Forget it, Dean. You're way too hung up on the family business to get a real job."

"Who says this isn't a real job?" Dean protested.

"Oh, no one." Sam replied nonchalantly. "It's just people in real jobs usually get _paid_."

Dean paused, realizing his little brother was right. "I see your point."

Sam suddenly sat upright, peering as far down the road as he possibly could. A large neon sign with most of the lights blown out stood proudly on the side of the road, indicating the first and only diner for the next forty miles. Dean saw it too, and heaved a sigh of relief, flicking on the indicator.

"Thank GOD. I'm starving." Dean complained. Sam didn't point out that his brother was usually starving. "Credit to that damn pizza place, of course. Who the hell closes early on a Friday night?"

The small diner was the first they'd seen all day, so Dean immediately pulled into one of the few parking spaces out the front, killed the engine and hopped out. Sam followed suit, two steps behind his brother as they crossed to the entrance. Dean was already pulling out his wallet, the prospect of a proper lunch hot on his mind.

"Hey, Dean?"

"What now, Sam?" He asked wearily, patience running thin.

Sam said nothing, but indicated with his head to the other side of the small parking lot, where an ugly, fluorescent lime green convertible had made an awful attempt at parallel parking. He grinned. "That's one point."


End file.
